I am the queen of always and forever responding or conversing in a noncommittal way. I get extremely anxious or nervous if I feel as though I’m locked into a plan or event and begin to panic that there’s no way out of it. I like having options, sue me.

Someone asks: “Drinks next week??”

What I hear: “Do you have plans 6 months, 3 days, 4 hours and 36 minutes from today? I want to lock you into plans that you may never get out of and if you try I will make you feel like a scum bag loser who is a selfish, shitty friend that hates babies.”

I have enough issues committing to an outfit every morning / finishing an entire bottle set of the same shampoo & conditioner (I cannot be alone on this one), let alone agreeing to meet for drinks anytime outside of the next 20-34 minutes. I prefer the whole “game time decision” approach, and 9 times out of 10 will answer any invitation with a response of “GTD”. That’s an abbreviation for game time decision. Idiot.

Soo how do I remain noncommittal while still continuing to receive social invitations? Well for starters, I set expectations low so that my attendance is always an exciting surprise; kind of like Christmas. I’m never really expected to show up, but on the off chance I do, that person is SO excited they immediately forget I haven’t been around. Second; I follow a strict event rotation. I pick and choose what I attend based on previous engagements. For example: if I attend a birthday gathering for someone, that person is moved to the bottom of the event rotation which essentially means I don’t have to see them for 12-18 months.

Also, this confirms that you will have plenty to talk about/catch up on which guarantees you won’t be bored to tears in the corner getting black out while silently judging everyone else in attendance. Well you’ll probably still do that but it won’t be as boring and people will think you have a life outside of watching Pick-a-flick Friday on Lifetime.

Honestly, you really shouldn’t fully invest in anything outside of deciding what kind of wine to buy, (because that obviously means you have to commit to the entire bottle and even then you should always have backup vodka just in case it sucks) and penetration. Because if you’re not fully committed to penetration than that means you’re getting raped. And no one chooses that. That’s why it’s called rape.

What?

Facebook: The Real Cape
Twitter: Hippie - Insane Tony

As I’ve previously mentioned, I love living alone. For all kinds of reasons, but one of the biggest ones is that I get to do whatever I want without judgement. Did I really just watch four episodes of Law & Order SVU wearing nothing but a headband and bathing suit bottoms while eating freeze pops and microwavable corn for the third time this week? No one will ever know.

Though eating frozen food naked while watching trash television is the bees knees, I sometimes seriously miss having roommates.

My Southie years were unreal. I lived with two roommates; one of whom married my cousin and the other who is my third sister. We literally hyphenated her name at a young age and I’m fairly confident she may have changed her birth certificate to reflect that. My cousin’s wifey is super fun, but also way more mature than Little Sis and I. Example: she would come home after work, go to the gym, make herself dinner and maybe read a new book or catch up on a show.

Little Sis and I? We’d have wine for dinner and then scrape the bottom of our purses for change and walk to Stop & Shop to buy giant deli pickles. One time, I woke up with her in my bed dressed as a bumble bee and I was cuddling our toilet seat cover. I wish I was kidding.

Malden Roommates? Oh man they had me at my prime. I refused to eat anything other than Popsicles and brussel sprouts every night for two years and demanded to cook while listening to nothing but Christmas music. I was pretty much always drunk because I was going through this weird phase..I think the phase was that I was always drunk..but whatever, that’s not important.

Send me to the store to buy dinner? I’d come home with toilet paper, US Weekly and three bottles of wine. I also drove through the garage. Like literally through the door. I just left my car there, walked in like nothing happened and totally forgot about it until the next morning when my roommate came in and asked why my car was inside the building. I don’t know, Al, why is the sky blue?

I came home with two bunnies once and tried to convince one of the girls it was her idea. She didn’t buy it.

I even created a game, that went on for weeks, where I would hide this giant plastic great white shark I got in a drink on Bourbon St in New Orleans all over the house for them to find. I’d hang it from their bedroom doors so it would fall down when they woke up, put it in their underwear drawers and even in their food sometimes. I live for games that only I can play.

Living alone can be tough because I don’t have anyone to play tricks on but myself. And that’s just not the same. Also, pick-a-flick Friday’s on Lifetime are lonelier (if that’s possible) and I don’t find people on my bathroom floor anymore (Ali).

________________________________________

Okay, so, no word of a lie I was just sitting in my apartment writing this when the fire alarm went off in my building. It’s fucking freezing out so I contemplated going down with Weymouth Commons but decided against it since I haven’t yet met Zac Efron or gone great white cage diving, and holy shit now I REALLY wish I had roommates.

The people that live in this building are straight up out the “people of Walmart” website. One woman came out wearing nothing but a tank top and spandex, holding an electric drill. Like, of all things to save from a burning building, you fucking chose a drill? How about your purse, or pictures of your family, or I don’t know, some fucking pants?

I just..I don’t even know. But if I don’t wake up tomorrow – Hippie; publish this so my audience knows how I went. And find the woman with the drill, because it was most likely her who took me out. And she’s probs single so let Ham know.

Facebook: The Real Cape
Twitter: Hippie - Insane Tony

Yesterday, Hippie unknowingly caused what turned out to be not only a life altering Glitter Ginger conspiracy theory via tweet, but a heated debate with a dude who originally, I thought had a crush on me, but the more I think about it, might actually hate my guts and would 100% beat me with my crutches if given the opportunity.

Hippie tweeted:

Okay. Seriously. Like, why the fuck have I never seen a baby seagull? They exist, right? I mean everything is a baby at some point, and I’ve seen my fair share of baby birds since most of my time is spent building forts and salamander hunting in the woods. I began to ponder..

..there’s literally no logical explanation for why we never see baby seagulls other than the fact that they’re robots strategically placed by the government. Think about it: they’re fucking everywhere. No other bird will just walk up to you while mid-bite and grab a bologna sandwich out of your hand. And when they dive bomb? NOBODY is that accurate. They’re fucking programmed trash bird machines sent to Cape Cod to collect information, find terrorists and tip the cops off when druggies steal shit out of summer homes.

I could seriously debate this for days, but that’s not the point. Once I really started thinking about this, I naturally chose a select few to text and bring together in a focus group in order to discuss said theory. One person, in particular, I apparently offended. He not only didn’t provide a theory of his own, but spit a three paragraph text about how he refused to answer because he was convinced I would take his words and make them my own for “likes and comments” on the Glitter Ginger blog.

Awka-scuse me?

Dear Dino,

We’ve known each other for quite some time now. I value your opinion, sometimes more than most, because you could literally give a shit about my feelings. If I look ugly; you will tell me. If I’m being conceited or a diva; you will sure as shit knock me down a few pegs.

That being said; fuck you! Anything I write on here is 100% Glitter Ginger original gold and I would never take credit for something I didn’t think of myself. That’s called plagiarism, pimpin.

When all is said and done, I think you’re mean to me because you’re intimidated by the fact that I can not only take your dickhead banter, but that I can give it back. Also, I’m pretty.

So, Dino, consider this letter an open invitation to not only continue with your asshole comments, dick-ish behavior and overall asshole attitude..but a confirmation that we would probs have the most amazing hate sex ever.

And seriously, have you ever seen a baby seagull?

Love,

GG

 

 

Facebook: The Real Cape
Twitter: Hippie - Insane Tony

Oh College. I was pretty much drunk for four years straight. I was typically always in a serious relationship while in school so never really dated or hooked up with rando’s like all the other slore’s. I would just get hammered, dance by myself, then creep off and pass out in the corner.

Normal college girls:

Me:

My roommates liked to spend all this time getting ready and shit, and I couldn’t have cared less. The way I looked at it was 1- any guy you meet in college is most likely going to be so black out that you don’t even need to have a face to get him in bed and 2- every minute you spend on another outfit or redoing your hair, I’m drinking all the vodka.

One Arm

Panama City. Spring Break. My senior year. I could probably just stop there because you can tell where this is going. Our first night there I didn’t even make it out. I got so drunk while we were getting ready that I fell asleep on the outdoor balcony and woke up with two non-lit cigarettes in my mouth, a bottle of sprite and band-aids all over my face.

Night two: I had been single for all of 20 minutes and was ready to party. Everyone was getting ready and I was all like…

We went to a bar to meet some other people from our school that had also made the trip down. My last memory was walking to the bar across the street and throwing my shoes at a cab. One thing lead to another and the next thing I know, I’m waking up next to the kid from my statistics class that was missing his left arm.

Holy shit. I hooked up with the kid that only has one arm.

I immediately ran into the other room where my roommates were sleeping and asked them what the hell happened and how did I end up taking home the kid with one arm!?

Well he somehow managed to use his good arm to sneak out of our condo before I could return and ask him what his name was and how he lost a limb. The remainder of my senior year I was teased repeatedly by my roommates for this unfortunate instance.

That was until the week before graduation when we threw a giant party that pretty much the entire school came to. A guy comes up to me and says, “Jenny! Hey, wow I haven’t seen you since Panama City!”

Who the fuck is this?

I looked into his eyes and saw my past. It was like a drunk, fucked up crystal ball. THIS is the guy I woke up next to in Panama City! My response to his introduction of “Remember me? We met in Florida over spring break…”

Me: OMG! YOU HAVE TWO ARMS!

Him: You thought I was that kid in our statistics class that only has one arm, didn’t you?

Sooo long story short, I thought I hooked up with a guy that only had one arm, but he actually had two…he did weirdly look a lot like that one armed kid, though.

One Arm and I ended up becoming pretty good friends and we’ve stayed in touch over the years. I really do call him One Arm, like to his face.

Also, one time in Southie while I was drunk and wondering the streets alone (not much has changed since college) I saw the REAL One Arm! I immediately called the fake One Arm and told him.

He didn’t think it was funny.

Also, I went to his beach house once and he accidentally peed on me. Things got weird after that and I haven’t really seen him since.

Owell – at least I didn’t hook up with an amputee.

Facebook: The Real Cape
Twitter: Hippie - Insane Tony

I got in a pretty heated debate last week with a couple of guys at work about the topic of how to appropriately ask a girl out.

Beavis and Butthead tried telling me that not only is texting an acceptable and expected way of asking a girl out, but that they have never, nor would they, pick up a phone and directly call a girl to request her company for the night.

I found this unacceptable. They kept trying to spit some bullshit about how no one talks on the phone anymore and that calling a girl directly is too much pressure and scares her off.

Erroneous! Even my four year old niece picks up the phone when someone calls – a girl does not get ‘pressured’ when you call her directly. That is unless you’re a fucking psycho that waits for her outside of her building/watches her sleep in which case it doesn’t matter how you’re contacting her because she will run.

Not asking a girl out directly says one of three things;

1. You don’t give a shit about actually dating her, you just want to bang her – which is fine if that’s all you want, but then why even ask her on a date? See where she checks in on facebook and show up after she’s already hammer timed and invite her back to your place – way easier, less money to spend on your end and little-to-no expectation of a follow up call/date. You’re welcome
2. You don’t have the confidence required to ask her out because you’re scared of rejection. Although this objection is fair, it’s also bullshit. If people didn’t take chances we wouldn’t have things like, I dunno, cars..or Pez dispensers or fucking stiletto heels
3. You’re gay

This is the point where I’d like to add that both Beavis and Butthead are under the age of 25. Though I don’t think age should matter when determining whether or not you’re a gentleman, they felt the need to bring my age into the debate.

Me: You guys, I don’t care that texting or social media is the most popular form of communication right now! You pick up the phone and CALL her, or ask her in-person, end of story.

Beavis & Butthead: Jenny, times have changed since you started dating. Guys don’t do that stuff anymore.

Oh no they didn’t.

Me: Really? Really, guys? Times have changed so much in the three year age difference between us that gentleman no longer exist, girls are expected to fall at your feet and you literally have to put little to no effort in finding a girlfriend?

Beavis & Butthead: Yeah. It’s called Tinder.

Fuck.

Facebook: The Real Cape
Twitter: Hippie - Insane Tony

I always get what I want. That sounds bratty, (which I won’t lie, I am 98.76% of the time)..but I’m a firm believer in that if you want something bad enough then nothing should stop you from getting it. As long as it’s within reason.

• Unrealistic want: Marrying Zac Efron
• Realistic want: Sleeping with a look-a-like

• Unrealistic want: Getting down to my original weight of 7 pounds 6 ounces
• Realistic want: losing 15 pounds through exercising/not eating solids

You get the idea.

So how do you go about getting what it is that you want most? Call her what you will, but my girl Britney says it best..

You bust your ass, that’s how. I don’t care what it is that you’re trying to attain, you don’t stop until you get it. You want a promotion at work? Well then you work longer hours, go above and beyond what’s expected and maybe even sleep with your boss. Okay, that’s extreme but you follow me?

Nothing pisses me off more than when someone bitches about how badly they want something, but are too lazy or unwilling to work for it. I wanted this Kate Spade bag that I just couldn’t justify buying since I’m supposed to be able to pay rent, my car payment and some bullshit someone spit at me about needing insurance..so what did I do?

I ate nothing but brussel sprouts and mustard for the entire month of February and BOOM – got the bag AND matching wallet.

You have a crush on a guy that you really want to date? Well then quit spending more time with Ben & Jerry than you do in public, brush your hair and for Christ sakes learn some social skills. I don’t care how unfortunate looking you are, if you’re cool to chill with and don’t suck to talk to; 9 out of 10 times you can at least get him drunk enough to sleep with you.

Been in a funk lately and just want to be happy again? Then quit sitting around feeling sorry for yourself and go do something to turn your attitude around! Whether it be take a vacation, go for a run or get black out…just DO something about it!

So basically, what I’m saying is…just do what I say and act like me and you’ll get everything you want out of life. Like a new Kate Spade bag, hilarious blog and a drinking problem.

Facebook: The Real Cape
Twitter: Hippie - Insane Tony

My old company was infamous for incentives, most of which were all expense paid trips to various places all over the world. In order to land yourself on an incentive trip you had to sell a shit ton of software, do something great or have freckles. Which is how I got myself an all expense paid trip to the Super Bowl in New Orleans last year. (Kidding – I earned it because I had the most influenced margin in a quarter – a cool million from ONE CAMPAIGN.) Like a boss..

The trip was for myself and a guest. My sales team presented me with the trip and I was SO EXCITED! They all made fun of me because apparently my reaction was similar to that of an annoying beauty queen, except I’m not pretty <– their words, not mine.

I was so excited! They told me I had to tell them who I was bringing as my guest within the hour because they needed to book the plane tickets ASAP, as the game was only a week away. At the time, I had still been wasting time with Nintendo No Friendo so he was first on my call log.

He was clearly too busy gaming and/or reading his latest manual on how to build weapons for the zombie apocalypse out of household goods, because he didn’t answer my call. (<– not kidding, that book not only exists, but he in fact owns and reads it. He brought it the bar once).

Soo the guy you’ve been boning is ignoring your call and you have an all expense paid trip for two to the freaking Super Bowl – I’m fairly confident I could have gotten any man to go on this trip with me. Game.On.

Ha. Yeah right – I took my Dad. I mean, unless you’re married or in a serious relationship, who ELSE would you take!? My Dad has ALWAYS been there for me. Moved me into every apartment, paid for me to go to college, CREATED ME. He even taught my sisters and I how to dance.

I mean you don’t get a better Dad than Heavy D.

He was SO PUMPED when I called him and told him I was taking him to the Super Bowl. I’m fairly confident he told everyone in our town and may have even taken an ad in the newspaper. It made me happy that he was so excited and proud of me.

We got down to New Orleans, checked into the hotel and immediately went to Bourbon St. I had been to New Orleans a few times so knew my way around and wanted to show my Dad the city. For those of you that don’t know my Dad – he can hang.

We started taking shots at the first bar we got to – from there, we got 40’s of Bud heavy’s at the gas station since you can walk around with open containers and proceeded to try every drink known to man down the entire strip. By 10:30PM, I was so drunk I had already thrown up ON a bar and we had been asked to leave.

My Dad told me to man up and that we weren’t going home until he got to either ride one of the horses the Cops were on or throw beads from a random balcony.

About an hour after that I somehow managed to lose my cell phone and demanded to be brought back to the hotel. Like any normal girl on vacation with her Dad, I immediately opened up my iPad and blasted all over facebook that I had been mugged.

I passed out as soon as I posted it. I woke up in the morning to a million facebook posts and my Dad had all of these missed calls and voicemails from my mother. He didn’t even know how to text message since he had a flip phone – what are you, Dad, a freakin time traveler?! I didn’t even know they still made flip phones.

So yeah, I faked a mugging.

The trip went on and we had a blast – I took my Dad all over the city and we had a great time. The Super Bowl was even better – we walked to the stadium in the morning, bloody mary’s in hand and hit up all the tailgates. The tailgates were unreal because they weren’t put on by people, but sponsors like Budweiser, Grey Goose, Miller Light, Bacardi, etc. and had all these insane performers.

Then the game started and I just wanted it to be half time so I could see Beyonce.

Then the power outage happened, which we literally didn’t even notice. People obviously assumed that I had somehow caused the black out at the Super Bowl since I was there and am an idiot. But I didn’t.

We went out on Bourbon St after, and I obviously puked in the street a couple of times and fell asleep on a table, but lasted until about 3am, then my Dad dropped me back off at the hotel and went out to the casino.

Getting to the airport on Monday morning was miserable. I’ve never seen so many people in one place. Like so many people trying to make their flights, all hungover as shit, that security didn’t even make you take your shoes off or put your bags through the scanner. I’m pretty sure that’s illegal but I was so hungover I didn’t even care.

The sales manager that also won the incentive had a much rougher trip than I, however, especially while departing..

While waiting to board our flight I noticed he was swaying a bit and getting a little green. I asked if he felt alright, to which his only response was to spew what looked like infant vomit all over the people in front of us. He tried to run to the bathroom and cover his mouth but it only made it worse – he continued to run while chunky white liquid spewed through his fingers and splattered all over the floor.

I obviously started laughing uncontrollably while continuing to crush the bacon egg and cheese I had gotten from Dunkies. Our Dad’s pretended like they didn’t know us.

You couldn’t pay me to go to the Super Bowl this year in Jersey – that shit is going to be FREEZING. Though Phillip Phillips is opening and since he has the face of an angel and his voice sounds like rainbows, my love for him would keep me warm for sure.

Long story short – Super Bowl XLVII was awesome, and I’m officially my Dad’s favorite daughter.

Facebook: The Real Cape
Twitter: Hippie - Insane Tony